


It Just Has to Be

by skidmo



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Knotting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skidmo/pseuds/skidmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint uses some pheromones for an op that end up reacting badly with his omega suppressants.  Phil is there to help him, but nothing can ever be that simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Just Has to Be

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first try at an A/B/O fic. I hope it works!

“It doesn't have to be on Valentine's Day. It doesn't have to be by the time you turn eighteen or thirty-three or fifty-nine. It doesn't have to conform to whatever is usual. It doesn't have to be kismet at once, or rhapsody by the third date.  
It just has to be. In time. In place. In spirit.  
It just has to be.”  
― David Levithan  
  
  


“You make me so wet,” Clint whispered because that was what Alphas liked to hear.

He’d learned that the hard way, young and in heat at the circus, pinned against a wall by an Alpha for the first time. He’d said, “You make me so hard,” because that was what he’d felt, like his dick was going to tear open the front of his pants and make a break for it. And the guy had laughed and said, “What the hell do I care what your dick is doing? Tell me about your cunt.”

He hated that word. He hated that somehow, just because he was an omega, his body didn’t count. His body wasn’t ever about him. It was always about an Alpha. And he thought, if they’re gonna stick their dicks up his ass, they could damn well call it an ass, but it didn’t work like that.

So when the mark had him cornered in a dark bar, and he knew the pheromones R&D cooked up for him were making him smell like he was on the edge of heat, he whispered, “You make me so wet,” and groaned appropriately when the guy groped his ass as if to test whether it was true.

He had a fleeting thought that it was a good thing Alphas never cared about his dick because it was doing nothing right now, and while he could fake being wet with lube, he couldn’t really do anything about not being hard. This guy was a typical Alpha, too. All he did was grind his own hard dick against Clint’s hip, blatantly groping Clint’s ass.

And then there was a voice in his ear, and if anything could make him hard while this scumbag was all over him, it was Coulson’s voice, even if it was saying something as unsexy as, “Get him out of the bar. We can’t take him down in that crowd.”

It made Clint’s hips jerk forward, and the Alpha let out a low growl. “Gonna do it right here?” Clint taunted. “In front of all these people?”

For half a second the man hesitated, and Clint could have kicked himself. Of course he was _that_ kind of Alpha. The kind who wanted to show everyone when he took an omega, prove that he could, demonstrate his dominance. 

But common sense seemed to win out in the end, and the guy said, “There’s a hotel down the street if you can wait that long.”

Clint grinned and let the mark lead him out of the bar, Coulson’s voice advising him to wait for backup before taking the guy down.

He didn’t always do what that voice said.

***

Clint had always heard that there were decent Alphas out there. The kind that didn’t treat omegas like property to be bought or discarded depending on their worth, the kind that didn’t make it all about themselves all the time, the kind that actually saw another human being when they looked at an omega instead of something ever so slightly less.

He hadn’t ever seen one that he knew of, but he imagined Coulson was probably like that. He managed the last part at least. Clint never felt like Coulson was looking down on him or dismissing him just because he was an omega. That was why Clint liked hanging around him, camping out in his office. There weren’t any other omegas at SHIELD—most of them never got the chance to develop a skill set that SHIELD would find useful—and even though there were some betas working there, they were so outside the gender politics that he was never quite sure how to react to them outside of an op. Coulson made him comfortable, the way he’d imagined an Alpha would when he was still young enough to think some of them were different.

One thing Coulson did that was very Alpha-like in Clint’s mind was hover.

Like tonight. Clint hadn’t had any real trouble taking the mark down, but he did end up with an elbow to his ribs and a black eye, and that meant that he was going to have to let some medic look him over, Coulson hovering in the background until he got the all clear.

“I’m fine, sir,” he said, pressing an ice pack to his eye. “You don’t have to worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Coulson responded. “I’m just being thorough.”

Clint had spent enough time around Coulson to glance up sharply at the remark. It wasn’t the words themselves that gave him pause, it was the tone of them. Something in Coulson’s voice he’d never heard before.

That was when he remembered the pheromones. He looked around the quinjet and realized everyone else there was a beta. Of course they were. SHIELD wouldn’t want to risk an incident by sending Clint out like this with a bunch of Alphas. But Coulson was his handler, so he got special dispensation.

Since well before he started working for SHIELD, Clint had been on suppressants. They masked his scent, shortened and muted his heats, kept him in control and kept the Alphas around him from trying to take it from him. He almost can’t remember the last time he had a proper heat, and his next one wasn’t due for about a month, but the way Coulson was looking at him—or trying not to look at him—made him stop and recalculate to make sure that was true.

“He’ll be just fine, Agent Coulson,” the medic commented, all but shoving Clint off the seat he was occupying. 

“See?” Clint said, trying to keep things light, ignore the look in Coulson’s eye, the faint twitching of his jaw. “Nothing to worry about.”

Coulson nodded, turned on his heel, and strode out of the jet.

***

The jet was equipped to take the med team, the backup, and the mark back to HQ, but Clint and Coulson were left to make their own way back to New York. It was late, and Clint was technically injured, so they made their way to a safe house, a tiny, little farmhouse a few miles outside of town, and pulled in for the night.

When they got there, he and Coulson did a quick perimeter check and headed inside. It was about par for SHIELD safe houses, cramped but in good condition. Just the one bedroom.

“You want the couch or should I take it?” Clint asked, fully intending to protest if Coulson offered to take it.

“We can flip for it later,” Coulson said. “You need a shower.”

“I smell that bad?” he teased, lifting an arm to check. It wasn’t like he’d had any really strenuous activity on this mission.

Coulson’s answer came back almost inaudibly. “No. That good.”

Oh.

So it was like that.

Clint couldn’t smell himself, but he’d been trying to block out Coulson’s scent all evening. Usually it calmed him, but with the adrenaline from the mission plus the situation he’d been in…calm wasn’t the term he’d use for how Coulson made him feel.

Not that Coulson didn’t often make him feel like that, but his handler’s reaction to the R&D pheromones was just an illustration of why Clint had never let those feelings be known. Coulson didn’t want to want him. Even knowing it was just chemical, the Alpha still didn’t want it.

And dammit if that didn’t just make Clint like him even more.

But he could do this. If Coulson wanted him to get rid of the pheromones, he would. They were pretty strong, after all. Even Clint was beginning to think he could smell them, feeling like his heat actually was beginning, like he hadn’t remembered it doing since he was a scrawny kid at the circus.

“Right,” he answered eventually. “Sorry about that.” He ducked his head to punctuate the apology and headed for the bathroom. A long, cold shower would help, he was sure, both with the scent and with his own reaction to it.

He stripped methodically, setting aside his clothing. It would have to be washed as well, but right now, he just wanted to wash away the pheromones from his skin, the ones that made Coulson turn away from him. Stepping under the cool spray, he let the water soak into his skin, hoping it would distract him, but his mind stayed on the man in the other room. He could almost feel the presence of the Alpha there, tugging at his consciousness, and as his hands worked to wash himself, his skin tingled at the contact.

He paused. This wasn’t right. This was textbook heat, and he wasn’t supposed to hit his for at least three weeks. Maybe the suppressants were wearing off. He’d heard that could happen. Some omegas built up a resistance to certain suppressants, but even so, he was way off schedule.

Off schedule and stuck in a tiny house with an Alpha who didn’t want him, an Alpha he himself didn’t need the assistance of heat to want.

He didn’t have much choice in the matter. He could try to stay locked up here in the bathroom until SHIELD could send someone to retrieve them, or he could go out and tell Coulson what was happening and hope they could find a way to get through this that didn’t leave his handler unable to look him in the eye.

It was okay. He was still just beginning his heat. Coulson should be able to control himself for a while yet. Hell, Coulson could probably control himself the whole time. They’d both be miserable, but the Alpha was more than capable of keeping himself in line from what Clint had seen.

Turning off the water, he stepped out of the spray and vigorously toweled himself off, glancing at the pile of clothes on the floor. It was no use putting them back on. They were practically drenched with pheromones, and Clint didn’t need to make this any harder than it already was. Instead, he wrapped the towel around his waist, took a deep breath, and stepped into the hallway, slowing making his way to the tiny living room where he’d left his handler.

Almost immediately, the scent of the Alpha hit him, hard and strong, in a way that he couldn’t help associating with puberty, when his hormones were raging and he never knew what to do with them. His hands trembled a little, and he had to stop and focus to get it to stop before he stepped into the room.

Coulson was on the phone, and Clint heard the tail end of his call.

“Yes, sir. I understand. Thank you for informing me…. Yes, sir. We’ll do that.”

As he ended the call, Coulson turned to look at him, and Clint could see in his face that the conversation had been about Clint.

“What happened?” Clint asked cautiously, careful not to move any closer just yet, not with the scent of both of them hanging in the air like this, so thick Clint would almost swear he could see it.

“The pheromones,” Coulson said, and Clint could see he was struggling not to let his agitation show. “They’re a new development. R&D didn’t have the chance to properly test them.”

“And?”

“And it turns out they don’t mix so well with some chemicals.”

Clint kept his face studiously blank as it clicked for him. “Chemicals like the kind in my suppressants?”

Coulson nodded. 

“How bad is it?”

His handler hesitated. “They’re not entirely certain, but all signs point to bad.”

It was Clint’s turn to nod. He could see that already. He felt it coming over him, already stronger than most of his heats ever got.

“How do we want to handle this?” A regular heat he could sit out, but this one? It felt like it was going to be the kind you heard about in urban legends. The kind where omegas died because there wasn’t an Alpha around and it just…burned them up from the inside. The kind where Clint had seen for himself the way an omega’s mind broke when they had no one to help them through.

“I’m here,” Coulson said, his voice calm, if a little tense. “We’ll get through this.”

Clint wanted to say no. No, sir, you don’t have to. I wouldn’t ask you to. But they both knew that wasn’t true. Coulson did have to. He was Clint’s handler, and it was his job to see that his asset came home safely. That was what Clint needed to keep in mind. This was Coulson’s job. Nothing more. He may have thought about this just about every heat since he met the man, but for Coulson, this was duty.

He must have closed his eyes for a moment, because suddenly he felt Coulson’s hand, warm on his shoulder, and Coulson was repeating it as Clint blinked his eyes open, his handler’s face impossibly close. “We’ll get through this.”

Swallowing, Clint nodded, and then he did the only thing he could think of. He leaned forward and kissed Coulson.

It was everything and nothing like what he’d imagined. It was perfect and it was perfectly wrong. Their lips met and it was like a floodgate opened, but it wasn’t the sort of flood Clint had wanted. It was desperation and need, and Coulson clung to him, pulling him close, arms trapping him in their embrace, and though Clint wished he could get away, he didn’t really want to.

Coulson growled into the kiss, and Clint whimpered, pushing forward against the other man, forgetting all about what Alphas want in an omega and thinking only of what he wanted in Coulson, what Coulson might want from him.

“Jesus, you’re so hard,” Coulson whispered, teeth catching on Clint’s lip.

“Sorry,” Clint answered, burying his face in Coulson’s neck so he didn’t have to see the disappointment on his face. He canted his hips away from Coulson’s so the Alpha wouldn’t have to feel him.

Coulson’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging his head up, forcing him to look at Coulson’s face. “Why would you ever be sorry about that?” Coulson asked, confusion and concern evident in his expression as his free hand moved to Clint’s hip, tugging him forward, grinding against him.

“Fuck,” Clint gasped, helpless to stop his hips jerking forward at the pressure of Coulson’s erection against his. “Sir, that’s…”

“Phil,” he murmured, nuzzling at Clint’s throat even as Clint tilted his head, baring it in submission.

“Hmm?”

“Phil. It’s Phil. Call me Phil,” Coulson—no Phil—muttered, teeth scraping over the column of Clint’s throat, drawing a soft moan from him.

“Phil,” Clint gasped, pulling back just enough to start tugging at Phil’s jacket, shoving it off his shoulders.

“God, yes,” Phil groaned, the sound sending a shiver down Clint’s spine. He shrugged out of his jacket and took hold of Clint’s face in both hands, kissing him deeply, possessively, shoving him back against the wall and grinding their hips together again.

Clint was lost, drowning in the scent of Phil, the pressure of Phil’s body holding him against the wall, the solid, searing heat of Phil’s hands on his skin. He whimpered again, head falling back against the wall with a dull thunk as Phil started sliding down his body. Clint parted his legs instinctively as Phil’s mouth moved over him, teeth and lips catching on his skin, the scrape of Phil’s stubble across his stomach making him shudder and moan. He expected the Alpha to straighten up then and flip Clint around, take him hard and deep. He wanted that. He was prepared for that.

He wasn’t prepared to hear the thud of Phil’s knees hitting the floor and feel the towel pulled slowly away from his hips. He wasn’t prepared to glance down and see a look of awe on Phil’s face as he leaned in, slowly kissing his way across Clint’s hip. He wasn’t prepared to feel the fire that spread across his skin from Phil’s breath, goosebumps rising in its wake. His fingers scrabbled in the short strands of Phil’s hair, and he sucked in a shuddering breath. “Phil?”

“Relax,” Phil murmured, sending another wave of tingling pleasure across his body. And then Phil did the unthinkable. He looked up at Clint, eyes dark and pupils blown, and wrapped his lips around Clint’s dick.

And Clint’s mind exploded.

He’d given blowjobs before, of course, and he’d even been on the receiving end a few times, but never during heat. That wasn’t what mattered during heat. It was his ass, not his dick that Alphas were interested in.

Trust Phil to do exactly the opposite of what Clint expected of him because Phil was definitely interested in Clint’s cock. He approached it with the same calm competence that he approached everything else, and it was only the quick puffs of breath from his nose and the flush in his cheeks that showed Clint he wasn’t as coolly unaffected as he seemed. As Phil’s tongue teased along the underside and Phil’s throat relaxed to let Clint’s cock slip deeper, Clint stopped worrying about what was supposed to be happening here. It wasn’t an Alpha and an omega riding out a heat; it was asset and handler dealing with an op gone south, it was Hawkeye and the only man in the world he’d trust to see him through this kind of heat, it was Clint and Phil.

And it was with that thought that Clint went over the edge, groaning loudly as he came, eyes widening in awe as Phil just calmly swallowed around him, darkened eyes staring up at him.

“Jesus,” Clint gasped, Phil slowly pulling his mouth off and wiping it with the back of his hand. “Phil, that was…”

“That was for you,” Phil murmured, pressing a kiss to Clint’s hip before sliding back up his body to kiss him deeply.

Every Alpha Clint had ever gone down on had refused to kiss him after, and right now Clint couldn’t figure out why. Tasting himself in Phil’s mouth was one of the most erotic things he’d ever done, and he pressed himself into the kiss, licking every last drop of that taste from Phil’s mouth as his handler expertly guided him into the bedroom, pushing him gently onto the bed. Clint immediately scrambled further up on it, starting to turn onto his stomach to present himself for Phil, but Phil stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Not yet.” There was a darkness to Phil’s tone that went down Clint’s spine like lightning, straight to his cock, making it twitch and making him want to obey whatever Phil asked of him. So he stretched out on his back instead, spreading his legs out of instinct, the slickness on his thighs spreading as well, starting to soak into the sheets. They’d have to send a cleaning team in to do a DNA sweep of the house after this, and Clint found the idea gratifying rather than embarrassing.

Phil moved to the end of the bed, smiling at Clint, his chest rising and falling heavily, tie askew, hair mussed from Clint’s fingers.

Clint had never seen him look so good.

As Phil toed off his shoes and tugged his tie loose, he echoed Clint’s thoughts. “God, you look amazing like that. The praise made Clint part his legs further, exposing himself for Phil, wanting to show him just how limber the ex-circus performer still was. Phil smiled almost indulgently, continuing his slow, steady striptease, and though Clint’s fingers clutched the sheets, he wasn’t desperate enough to demand Phil move faster, not yet.

“This is why we take the edge off first,” Phil murmured, finally shucking his pants and underwear and climbing onto the bed. “Well, that and this,” he added as he maneuvered himself easily between Clint’s legs and started nibbling his way down Clint’s thigh until his tongue was lapping at Clint’s hole, teasing around the tight ring of muscle.

“Jesus!” Clint gasped. He’d never had an Alpha do this either, go down on him. People talked about it sometimes, but he’d always figured it was just one of those stories you heard that no Alpha actually did, just wishful thinking on the part of omegas. But there Phil was, turning Clint’s expectations upside down yet again as his tongue probed and stroked, sending zings of pleasure to Clint’s brain until he couldn’t think any more about what Alphas were supposed to do or even about what Phil was doing.

Somewhere in the haze of arousal, Phil’s voice cut through, murmuring, “God, your ass is perfect…”

And Clint knew he was damned. It was too late for him, and he’d never find another Alpha who could be half the Alpha Phil was, and he didn’t care because if he could have Phil like this just once, he would trade that for all of the heats for the rest of his life and live off this memory forever.

He was going to have to thank the idiots in R&D when he got back, but right now, he was just going to give in to the pleasure of Phil’s tongue, marveling at how quickly his cock got back with the program, rising insistently as Phil patiently opened him up.

“Are you ready?” came Phil’s ragged voice as he raised his head, looking up at Clint, waiting for his answer. “Please tell me you’re ready…”

It took Clint a moment to respond—he’d never been asked that before—and when he finally did, it came out in a rush. “Yes, fuck. God, yes…please,” he stammered, turning easily as Phil tugged on his hip and grabbed a pillow to settle beneath his hips. Clint almost laughed at the concern he was so far past even caring about. 

And then Phil’s body settled on top of his, blanketing him in warmth, and Phil’s cock pressed into him, stretching him further, filling him up, and Clint was perfectly content to stay just like this for as long as Phil wanted.

And when Phil started moving, that was perfection. Clint moved with him, matching his rhythm, and Phil took his time. No one took their time, not with him, not during heat. But here was Phil, murmuring things in Clint’s ear that Clint only half heard as they rocked together, things like, “Beautiful,” and, “So perfect,” and, “Knew it would be, Clint…” And Clint didn’t have the presence of mind to argue, not when Phil shifted his hips just right and his cock hit _just there_ , and Clint felt like his head would explode if Phil didn’t knot him soon.

And Phil did that perfectly too. His hand reached around Clint’s hip to wrap around Clint’s throbbing cock, and his hips pushed forward hard, and Clint had never felt so perfectly full or so perfectly cared for or so perfectly content as they both came together, shouting things he was sure they both didn’t intend.

They lay just like that a moment, panting and gasping and struggling to catch their breath, until Phil shifted them both, an arm around Clint’s hip to keep him close as they moved onto their sides, away from the mess they’d made of the sheets. For a long while, Clint stayed close, not letting himself think any of the thoughts that would take away from this moment of perfection.

And then Phil muttered, “I’m going to strangle those idiots in R&D,” and the moment was gone.

Clint stiffened and tried not to show it, shifting away as much as he could manage. This was always the worst part of heat. The knotting that felt so good and so right moments earlier was now confining, keeping Clint tied to the Alpha, unable to pull away from an embrace he didn’t want or need.

Of course, though. Phil— _Coulson_ —would be regretting this as soon as the haze of Clint’s heat abated. He’d never wanted this, and as soon as his mind cleared, he would be wishing himself anywhere but here, stuck with Clint in this cramped, little house, knowing that in a few hours it was going to start again.

Clint felt Coulson go stiff as well behind him.

“Clint, I…”

“It’s fine, sir,” Clint said, reaching for a pillow to bury his face in. “I get it.”

“I don’t think you do,” Coulson responded, but he didn’t elaborate, so Clint figured he’d had it right after all.

He focused on his breathing, counting the seconds in his head, slow and steady, until finally Coulson’s knot diminished enough for Clint to pull away properly. He got up without a word and hobbled to the bathroom to clean himself up, taking as much time as he could justify. When he came back out, Coulson was changing the sheets, so he went into the kitchen for a glass of water. He downed one and refilled the glass, holding it in his hand and just staring at it a moment, trying not to think of the look on Coulson’s face as he’d stood at the end of the bed, trying not to imagine what his face must have looked like when he’d come to his senses and realized what he’d done.

He heard Coulson’s bare feet padding up behind him, but he still jumped a little when Coulson’s hand landed on his shoulder. His handler had pulled his underwear and pants back on, and Clint was grateful for that, at least. He handed Coulson the glass without a word.

“So,” Coulson said, rolling the glass between his palms a moment.

“Probably at least two more days of it,” Clint said, as though Coulson had asked.

Coulson nodded, sipping the water thoughtfully. “You up for it?”

“I’ll manage,” Clint answered and turned to leave the kitchen.

“Clint,” Coulson called out after him.

“Can we just keep it to Barton, sir? It’s easier that way.”

Coulson didn’t answer.

***

Coulson was a professional. Clint admired that. They got through the next couple days, awkwardly, but they managed, until Clint’s heat had waned enough that they could both ignore it. It was never as good as the first time again.

And when they got back, there was a debrief on the mission, and Coulson kept it short and sweet, and nobody dared ask about the three days after. The R&D guys were too embarrassed to even apologize, though about a week after the incident, Clint found several brand new arrows in his quiver that he figured were as close as he would ever get. He was okay with that.

Basically, he was okay with anything that meant they could put this behind them. He could live the rest of his life with the memory of one perfect—or nearly perfect—night with Phil, and he and Coulson could forget it ever happened, and they could both just go back to work like they had before.

It worked, mostly, because Coulson was a professional and Clint was a survivor, and between the two of them it was for the best if they moved forward as if nothing had changed.

Clint thought he was doing a good job of it too until Natasha cornered him one day.

Well, to be fair, she pinned him. They were sparring, and she got him on his back, knees pinning his shoulders down, and she asked out of the blue (Not even breathless, and how was _that_ fair?) “What happened with Coulson?”

Clint tried to ignore her. He glared and flipped them so he could get to his feet, and they got back to sparring. It worked fine until the next time she had him pinned and asked again, calmly, “What happened with Coulson?”

It wasn’t until the fourth time that Clint finally gave in and responded. “It’s nothing, Tasha. Just drop it.”

She pulled herself off him and offered him a hand up and a water bottle and towel which he took gratefully.

“It’s not nothing. Not for you or for him,” she argued, but she didn’t say anything else that day, so he figured she was willing to let it lie.

He should have known better.

A few days later, he saw Natasha coming out of Coulson’s office and they both glanced at him before going on about their business. It bothered him, but he was comfortable living in denial, so he tried to forget about it. Just like he tried to forget what Coulson sounded like when he came or how his lips tasted or the feel of his hands on Clint’s skin.

They both worked equally well.

***

Clint hadn’t been spending as much time in Coulson’s office since the incident. None, really. He was really good at pretending this didn’t affect him at all. Right up until the time he came back from an op without Coulson, exhausted and on the run from medical. He found himself heading for Coulson’s office on automatic and had to reroute himself with effort.

He headed for the range instead, hoping that shooting would settle him down, but it wasn’t working. His shots were always just off of center, and his frustration kept building until one of the new batch of juniors approached him hesitantly to tell him Coulson wanted to see him in his office.

Every muscle in Clint’s body was tense as he stepped into the room. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

Coulson didn’t even look up from his screen. “Have a seat, Barton.”

Clint dropped onto the couch and looked at Coulson expectantly, but the man didn’t say anything else. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“What was it you wanted?”

With just a brief glance at Clint, Coulson said simply, “I wanted you to sit.”

Clint frowned as he considered that, wondering why on earth Coulson would call him in for that unless it was more obvious than he thought that he hadn’t been relaxing as well lately.

“Or lie down, if you prefer,” Coulson added after a long moment, still mostly engrossed in his work.

Skeptically, Clint shifted, stretching out on the couch.

A few minutes later, he drifted off to the click clack of Coulson’s typing.

***

Clint started going back to Coulson’s office after that. They never talked, which was okay, and not really all that different from what it had been like before, but Clint found himself feeling a lot more relaxed just from laying on Coulson’s couch a few minutes every day. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed it.

A few weeks later, Natasha took a firm hold of his elbow in the lunchroom and steered him over to a table in the corner where Coulson was sitting with his coffee and sandwich and sat them both down. And after a couple minutes, she was called away to help Hill with an emergency about something Clint couldn’t quite catch. Paperclips, maybe.

And there he was, across the table from Coulson, barely started on his lunch and with no good excuse to leave.

Coulson smiled mildly and asked if Clint had seen the finale of Dog Cops last night.

They talked about nothing until they were finished with lunch and returned their trays, and then they both went on their ways, and Clint had to admit his step was a little lighter.

***

R&D were still working on suppressants that wouldn’t react to the pheromones they’d cooked up for Clint. There was some worry that the pheromones had actually altered Clint’s natural pheromone production, and until they could rule that out, he wasn’t allowed to go back to his original suppressants. So about three months after the incident, Clint was in Fury’s office requesting heat leave. 

He hated requesting heat leave. He felt humiliated having to stand in his boss’s office and admit that in a few days he was going to be heavily compromised and humping anything that smelled like an Alpha. Fury was always really good about it, but Clint still hated it.

“Do you have someone to take care of it?” Fury asked, causing Clint to gape at him a moment. He’d never asked about Clint’s Alpha situation before. But then again, this was the first heat he’d have gone through with SHIELD without suppressants.

Well, the second, but he wasn’t thinking about that right now.

“I…no?” Not for the first time, he wished Natasha was an Alpha so he could just go to her and not have to worry about things getting complicated.

“I’ll send someone over from the service,” Fury said coolly, signing the form. 

Clint nodded. He’d never used the Alpha service before, but he knew that they heavily vetted their Alphas and took pride in matching them to an omega with preferences to match. “I’m not registered with them,” he pointed out.

“I’ll give them enough info to find you someone,” Fury assured him. “You’re dismissed, Barton.”

With another nod, Clint turned and left, feeling a little like he’d just agreed to let his boss fix him up on a date.

***

The first day of his heat leave, Clint was already glad he’d let Fury call the service. It’s not nearly as bad as the last one, but he can tell it’s going to hit him more than he’s used to. He woke up to sheets wet from slick and sweat and even after he’d jerked off in bed before changing the sheets, he still had another go in the shower. He came out and dried off, not bothering with clothes and wondering if he should call the service himself to make sure the Alpha they picked was on the way over.

Just as he was coming out of his bedroom he smelled it. Two things really. Alpha and bacon. It put him immediately on edge because he was sure Fury wouldn’t have given them a key to Clint’s apartment, but once the initial shock settled into wariness, he realized he knew that scent, and sure enough, when he stepped into the kitchen, there was Coulson, plating eggs and bacon and toast and giving him that mild smile.

“Coffee’s ready in a moment,” he said, sliding the plates onto the kitchen table and motioning for Clint to sit in the chair where he already had a towel folded and ready for Clint to sit on.

“Sir?” Clint said, even as he moved to obey.

“Unless, you’re…are you okay to eat first or do we need to get started?” The dark, almost possessive tone from their last encounter was back, and Clint found himself unable to speak, shaking his head instead, starting on his breakfast without thought.

“Good,” Coulson said, taking a seat across from Clint. “You’ll need energy before long. I don’t like to start off on an empty stomach.”

Clint just watched him as he ate, not sure what to make of this whole situation. Eventually, he couldn’t take the silence anymore, and he said, “I didn’t know you were registered with the service.”

“You’re my first assignment,” Coulson clarified. “I’ve only just made it through the vetting process.”

“And they matched you to me?”

He smiled, and Clint’s stomach flip-flopped. It wasn’t his usual mild, Agent smile. It was genuine, warm, pleased, maybe with just a hint of arousal—Clint couldn’t imagine what he must smell like by now. “Yes, they did. Finish your breakfast.”

He rushed through the rest of his meal, and Coulson told him to leave the dishes and go to the bedroom. Clint did as he was told, hands shaking a little again. He didn’t know what to think. He wanted this so bad, but that had to be the heat, he was sure. Part of him worried that this would be like everything after the first time had been: mechanical, stilted, awkward. But he _wanted_ so badly for it to be like that first time. He wanted to see Coulson—Phil—looking at him like he had then.

He settled himself on the bed, listening to Coulson in the kitchen, taking care of the dishes, obviously not hurrying through the clean-up. Clint’s hands fisted in the sheets, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he waited. He was starting to get impatient, could feel the sheets getting wetter, his cock filling as he remembered the first time.

Just when he was about to get up and go after Coulson, he heard Phil’s footsteps and opened his eyes to see the man standing next to his bed, smiling as he toed off his shoes and loosened his tie.

Clint wanted to say something, ask why Phil was doing this again when he’d clearly been so disappointed with himself the first time, but his eyes tracked the movement of Phil’s fingers, and he couldn’t think of anything other than the way they scraped over his skin, the bruises they left on his hips. Then the tie was gone and the shirt followed and finally, _finally_ , Phil’s hand moved to Clint’s stomach, and his handler leaned over him with that same smile. 

“You still look amazing like this,” he whispered before pressing his lips to Clint in a way that felt more like a brand than a kiss. Either way, Clint was beyond caring. His arms curled around Phil, pulling him closer, wanting to feel skin on skin. He didn’t know if it was just his heat or something more that made him this desperate to touch, but he didn’t care.

And Phil’s hands moved over him, stroking him, calming him, moving with promise and purpose. 

It wasn’t as intense as that first time had been, but Clint couldn’t help feeling like it was more important. Phil kept his eyes on Clint’s face, watching for every reaction, and Clint couldn’t take his eyes off Phil for more than a second, afraid he’d miss that smile when it came again. When he finally got Phil naked, Clint shifted to turn onto his stomach, but Phil stopped him.

“Not this time. This time I want to see you,” he murmured, taking a pillow and using it to prop Clint’s hips up.

“Are you sure?” Clint asked. He’d never knotted face to face before, and he always assumed Alphas didn’t want to.

“So sure,” Phil answered, and leaned into kiss Clint as he pushed in.

The kiss was sweet and slow, even as Phil thrust in deep, filling Clint in one stroke. Clint felt like he had to hold on to Phil to keep from falling apart, splitting into a million pieces with no way to put himself back together. Phil was murmuring in his ear again, “Beautiful,” and, “So perfect,” and, “Knew it could be like this,” and Clint listened harder this time, waiting for some hint of regret that never came.

Just when Clint was ready to beg Phil to take him harder, desperate to find that edge, Phil was already moving faster, pushing deeper. He reached for Clint’s cock again, and Clint gasped in surprise, still not used to anyone caring about his dick. And then he felt it, Phil’s knot swelling, and then it was pushing into him, filling him perfectly, and he was tumbling over the edge with Phil’s name on his lips, and Phil was saying something that he thought might have included the word ‘love,’ but he couldn’t possibly focus enough to know for sure.

Phil curled his arms around Clint, shifting them both to their sides. It was more awkward than doing this from behind, but Clint didn’t mind at all, not at the moment, though he expected any second that Phil would realize what he’d done, and Clint wouldn’t be able to turn away. He’d have to see the expression on his face. So he kept his face tucked against Phil’s neck until Phil pulled away a little to look at him, and all Clint saw was that smile.

“You’re…okay with this?” Clint asked, unsure and confused and coming down from the desperation of his heat long enough to wonder why Phil was here in the first place.

“I’m very okay with it,” Phil said. “You?”

“Yeah, I…I think so,” he managed.

They settled against each other again, and after a long moment, Clint admitted, “I thought…after last time… I thought you wouldn’t want to again.”

“After last time, how could I not?” Phil asked, and Clint pulled back with a frown.

“But you said…about R&D…”

“Clint, they screwed up your hormones because they didn’t bother telling anyone they weren’t done with testing. I thought… I felt like I had taken advantage of you. I wanted you, but I didn’t want you when you couldn’t say no.”

There was a long moment of silence before Clint could answer, and even then all he could come up with was, “Oh.”

“Oh, yes.”

“What changed?” Clint asked, knowing that things hadn’t only been awkward on his side.

“Someone very intelligent and very persuasive convinced me that I was miserable without you and you weren’t too much better.”

“You mean Natasha threatened to break your fingers.”

“Not my fingers.”

Clint laughed, feeling it bubble up from somewhere deep, and Phil laughed right along with him.

“So…you signed up for the service,” he said after he caught his breath.

“I did. And I will unsign up from it the second you tell me you want me to be your Alpha,” Phil said, hope in his voice and his eyes. “But I thought it might help if you had confirmation from an outside source that this thing can work.”

“Can you wait until my heat is over at least?”

Phil laughed and pulled him close for a kiss, keeping his arms around Clint as his knot slipped out of him. “Yeah. I think I can wait that long.”

“Good.” Clint curled against him, back straightening as he repositioned himself. “Wake me when it’s time to fuck again.”

He fell asleep with Phil’s chuckle in his ear.

***

A few days later the service received Phil’s resignation and R&D were notified they could stop their work on a new suppressant.

Fury signed the requisite fraternization papers without comment or fuss, though he did mention that the forms for change of address had to be filed with HR two weeks before they would take effect on any official documents.

Natasha never got an official thank you from them, but Clint made her favorite dessert, and Phil bought her favorite vodka, and they both let her tell them they were idiots.


End file.
